


Midnight Incident

by romeromano



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cute, Drunkenness, M/M, Ratings: PG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeromano/pseuds/romeromano
Summary: Viktor was drunk after celebration. Worse of all, he found Yuuri's precious posters.





	

“Eh? You’re retiring to your room already?” Minako-san asked, her face flushed scarlet. “Is it that late? Never mind. Make sure you can get up tomorrow morning then.”

Gulping another _sake_ shot, she shooed Yuuri away like an adult catching little kids eavesdropping things they weren’t supposed to. Yuuri only nodded and looked around the living room where his parent and friends still celebrated with Viktor. How can they manage to understand each other rumbling, Yuuri has no idea. He patted Makkachin’s fluffy head and left the room.

Somehow after closing the door, it seemed like he was shut off from the uproarious world, in which located lively conversation, a sound of glass cups against stainless ones, and unstoppable, jubilant laughing. All of them were just an inch behind the door, and here he stood alone, with reality crashing in all at once.

This was unreal.

But it was very much _real_.

Yuuri slowly ascended to his room, leaving soft steps that gradually overcame the celebration sound. He held up his left hand to his face, as if trying to hide his smile from a watchful ghost - or perhaps from Yuri’s imaginary scolding eyes in Russia. Monochrome, miserable dream from the past exploded into vivid visionary in his mind, and he could perceive the crowd, the clapping, the song, the way he animated on the smooth, transparent, blue ice.

Things that were impossible before, now they could form into reality.

His unlit room sat heavily in tranquility for which Yuuri was grateful. He jerked the chair from beneath the tidy desk, and let his palm touch the texture while daydreaming, savoring the dream playing in his head. Too long to even hear a creaking sound of his bedroom’s door being pulled open, leading a small ray of orange light inside, and a little echo from below.

The tantalizing faces of impressive crowd dispersed into nothingness when Yuuri was finally aware that he wasn’t alone. There was a silhouette lurking in the shadow. The eerie figure, crouching and swaying like bamboo hit by cool breeze, had pulled Yuuri’s wardrobe’s drawer and now was searching for something inside a box.

“H-hey!”

The shadowy figure glanced up with startled jump. His pale blue eyes glimmered in the dark. And the intruder’s appearance came to the light. Viktor’s reddish cheeks from alcohol shifted slightly, and then he smiled. “Oh, I thought you heard me coming.”

“No,” Yuuri said, his face felt heated for no reason. “I … I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I see.”

He decided to turn on a lamp; shoulder slumped with lament of the stopped daydream, and turned to glare at Viktor’s intruding action. The guy’s hands were still in the box, likely having a hold of something there. Yuuri furrowed his brows, wasted a good five seconds before the realization punched at his lung. He gasped, almost stumbling toward Viktor with an attempt of snatching the box away in mind.

Viktor evaded him like a cat, with the troubled box hovering on his light hair.

_No!_ Yuuri stared the taller man in dismay. They stood in silence. Helplessly, his forehead was damp with sweat, and he swore his smile must have looked dry and awkward. He tried to prevent his eyes from bulging out, and tried a collected pose which he failed miserably.

“Viktor, you’re drunk,” Yuuri said.

The intruder beamed his broad smile. It lighted up his face. “Am I?”

_Yes, of course, one-hundred percent positive!_ Yuuri screamed internally. He could see his hands shaking violently right now, oh no. And he couldn’t even avert his eyes from the box - his treasure, his awful secret. It was obvious as hell for Viktor to read his face.

“Why is your face so red?” Viktor asked and, slowly, gracefully, lowered the box to his shin level. Yuuri’s heart thundered an instant for he could see curiosity sparking in those pale eyes. “Hmm, perhaps there is something in this box?”

“No, no.” Yuuri choked on his word. _Damn it._ “Look, there’s nothing at all. Just … give it back to me, please. It’s almost midnight. Tomorrow we have rehearsal, haven’t we?”

Instead, Viktor squinted at him.

“No hiding secrets from your coach,” Viktor said. His voice was quite a combination of husky and hoarse tone from drinking too much. “Well, if you truly speak the truth, then I have no reason to doubt you.” He yawned. “Here. I’m going to sleep –”

Because the room was still too dark despite dim luminance, Viktor, who was handing the box back, tripped on Yuuri’s black bag which he always kept beside the door - a most probable thing to happen to the drunk in the insufficiently lit room. He widened his mouth into an O, sent the box flying towards the bed, as the box flew, the secret inside scattered in midair.

Yuuri didn’t stop to think. He jumped to collect his pieces of secret one by one.

“I couldn’t see the bag,” Viktor moaned on the ground. “ _Izvinite._ Let me help. Hmm? Where’s my legs? Oh, I think I’m stuck.” His head lied still for a moment, and then his hand grabbed one elusive piece of paper nearby. “Yuuri, what’s this?”

_How?_ Yuuri thought. “Just my homework!” No, idiot! You’re twenty-three! He replied in a shrilling tone, simultaneously panting from panic. He rushed towards Viktor, but it was too late. The only person whom he never wanted to know about his secret’s existence had saw - read the paper, to be precise.

“A poster?” Viktor said slowly, inspecting the material in complete confusion. “…It’s me?”

Yuuri snatched it from the man’s grip.

“No, it’s not.”

“That’s a poster of me.”

“You’re very drunk, so y-you probably misunderstand.”

To worsen the situation, Yuuri’s voice cracked. He winced.

“Well, let me see it again then,” Viktor said.

“No!” Yuuri flinched at his urging negative sentence. Honestly, he needed to be less overt. “Viktor. I’m … I’m really sorry, but I need to rest soon.”

“Yuuri…”

Viktor’s commanding, low voice stopped Yuuri’s action suddenly.

“I’m really sorry.” Yuuri was pleading now.

He turned his face to the other side, smiling apologetically while concentrating on shoving every poster tightly inside the box. He hoped that Viktor wouldn’t see the rest. But, holy hell, when he faced his coach again, his stare was like temperature dropping – or more like collapsing – to absolute zero. Yuuri shuddered. He’d heard about unfriendly characteristics of Russian people before, since the country was located in abysmal coldness: they rarely smiled; they were scary, like the Germans (whose sense of humor met those of robots programmed for bible praying), but the Russians had tendency to be more antagonistic.

And now Viktor was just like that.

“No secret from your coach,” he repeated.

“S-sure…”

He continued to stare.

_Dear God, please make him stop._ Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to stare back.

“You know, that hurts.” Viktor lowered his gaze, murmuring to the carpet. “I know the truth now. Because I’m such a bad coach, who is going to be bald soon, right? That’s why my trainee doesn’t even trust me.” He sniffed. “ _Bolvan_ , am I! I should head back to the heartless country where I’m exiled.”

“How can you be exiled?” Yuuri interrupted. “Please don’t be dramatic, Viktor. I’m … truly, really sorry. This whole thing is just …”

“Just?”

Thanks the night, Viktor couldn’t see his hot cheeks. “Too embarrassing, of course!”

“Having posters of me isn’t embarrassing!”

_That’s not the point!_ Yuuri argued.

“I look that ugly in portrait? So ugly that you feel sorry for me to ever gaze on such hideous picture? I know you’re acting on chivalry to prevent me from being heartbroken by merely looking at my ugly picture. I know this day must come. I –”

“You sound like a raving drunk now, Viktor,” Yuuri said, scratching his hair. “How’s about I help you up and bring you to your room?”

Viktor sighed. “Please do.”

The soft grumbling of a possibility of being bald went on. Yuuri pushed the box deep into the corner of the drawer. After making sure that it was safe from any eyes, he closed the drawer and hastily went to Viktor who managed to unwind his legs from the bag. It was quite a challenge to support such a guy who was taller, composed of normal weight, but was so heavy from his weak, useless limbs. Viktor murmured something like “Can I try sushi tomorrow?”, and hung his head in a limping manner. Yuuri had to rearrange his coach’s head, dragging both out of the room in reluctance, toward Viktor’s room.

Recovering from the frightening situation with his secret now safe in a figuratively safe lock, and Viktor wouldn’t be able to remember tonight, judging from his drunken words which should imply the level of an inability of comprehension, Yuuri wiped the last drop of sweat on his temple with the back of his hand. He could hear Minako-san’s voice piecing through air from the living room “Yuuri is going to Grand Prix! He is!”. _Well, not yet,_ he corrected, but grinned like a child anyway.

“What a weird vision I’m seeing now,” Viktor said, tapping his fingers on the _shouji_ as if counting something. “Have I drunk that much _sake_ that could be measured into … seven shots of vodka? Possible, is it?”

“I don’t really know, but you should go to bed now,” Yuuri said, sliding the _shouji_ ajar.

“How could I sleep peacefully with this knowledge that I’m so ugly on your collection of poster?”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, so he dragged Viktor inside his own room. It was dark, but bore a calming moonlight which shaped most of the furniture with shining outline. Viktor kept on whining about his thin hair each step he took. Yuuri had to soothe him at last. “Viktor, about the posters. That’s … that’s not what I mean…”

“Spare me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Don’t…”

Trailing off, and then Viktor was silent, his eyelids were close, occasionally snoring softly. He fell asleep. Yuuri pressed his lip together, whether from relief or regret, and used all of his effort to drag Viktor onto his king-sized bed which wobbled like a huge pillow. Everything was hushed. Yuuri kneeled beside the Russian who was on his stomach. He heard Makkachin just climbing the stair. The dog panted as it ran to its master. A few jumps and it was now snuggling at the crook of Viktor’s waist and hip.

“It’s not that you’re ugly,” Yuuri said, surprised that he could call up his bravery in this moment. _What a squishy._ “I’m at risk of a heart attack, though, if I let my childhood idol see what a crazed fan I am.”

He started to back off when Viktor stirred.

As his feet reached the _shouji_ , he stiffened at a husky call.

“What did you say, Yuuri?”

Yuuri literally jumped. “N-nothing! Goodnight –”

“I heard you said something…” Viktor propped himself up leaning on a pillow, then turned to look at the dog with intrigue shown on his knitted brows. “You’ve confirmed that I’m now a bald man in my sleep, right?”

“What? No!”

“Getting older is harsh.” He waved his right hand in a motion which Yuuri used to see him do in Grand Prix, but seeing him in a dazed state suggested otherwise. “By thirty, I must lose all of my hair surely. And who knows what’s going to happen next? I can’t stop thinking of the future. Eh … I think I got headache. Anyways, what do you think of your future, Yuuri?”

Being abruptly questioned stunned Yuuri. “My future? I –”

“What of your _own_ family?” A playful smile showed on Viktor’s face. “Have you thought about having your own children? What would their names … wait, do the Japanese have middle names? Forget it, trust me, you should prepare for the middle names, Yuuri. Here’s my idea: _Viktorovich!_ ”

Silence.

Viktor threw himself onto the bed again, his light hair falling in an unordered pattern. “Sounds good, right?” He didn’t even notice the thick, dead air between him and Yuuri, whose face became as white as a paper. “Viktorovich…”

Without checking if Viktor indeed fell asleep, Yuuri headed back to his room in a swift trek. He yanked his bedroom’s door open and rushed in, as if being chased. He closed the door, and then stepped backward until his knees hit the bed. He swallowed rapidly in order to drive out a weird feeling fluttering in his stomach. Ashamed, embarrassed? He didn’t know. But he knew there was flame dancing on his face. It was ablaze … from what?

Because of Viktorovich.

_Patronymic._

Yuuri didn’t think he could sleep tonight.


End file.
